Toast to Master Will

GENTLES, I pledge us to a mystery:
No riddle of dead bones, hid in a grave
For any rogue that mocks at destiny
To spoil; no mummery of passion’s slave
Masking in sonnets; neither cryptogram
Nor claim preferred of them bemused, that follow
The arch-enigma, — my Lord Verulam;
No empty secrets; no pretensions hollow.
I pledge the eternal stranger, him we call,
So fond and so familiar, Master Will;
That Essence unexplained and prodigal,
Poured out unstinted, yet withholden still;
Revealed but never known: The Poet’s Sprite!
I pledge Imagination — at the height!

A mystery! And to himself no less,
Who is aware of a creating spirit
That moves within upon high busyncsse;
That calls him, calls him, calls him, till he hear it;
That mocks at him, and drives him hithcr-and-yon;
Confounds his appetite, and murders sleep:
A Puck, that comes, and hovers, and is gone;
A Prospero, that leans with him to peep
Within the fiery crucible and see
Romeo, Hamlet, Rosalind, Falstaff, Lear,
Come bubbling up, —a golden alchemy!
Drink to the dæmon, Gentles, give good cheer!
Up, to your feet, and drink: The Poet’s Sprite!
I pledge Imagination — at the height!